


the promise painted in your smile

by spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Canon-Typical Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set in mid-2009, while the legacy was around. randy orton doesn't like people. he also doesn't have friends. cody thinks he should rethink both of these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the promise painted in your smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tylersneeze (lucy_and_ramona)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/gifts).



> THIS TOOK FOREVER. seriously, i started this last june, and only just got around to finishing it. a million thanks to damien because there is absolutely no way i could've written any of this without him, and because i apparently take the phrase 'there is no good candy fic' to mean 'lucy, please write me 20k of candy fic'.

Randy isn't a people person.

Most people who know him, or know of him, could tell you that. He doesn't really do friends, not anymore, not for a long time. Maybe once that would've been different but times have changed, and Randy's had to change with them.

He's a very adaptable creature. The Viper, Randy Orton, that's what they've started calling him. Personally, Randy thinks it's a little ridiculous, but in this business, you've got to have a Thing, or you won't have a thing. It's just how it works. You've got to get people to remember you, any way you can.

People remember assholes. Nobody remembers nice guys. Nobody goes home after they've sat in the audience at RAW and remembers the happy-go-lucky guys, the guys who just want to have a good time and wrestle. 

Randy's not one of those guys. He doesn't want to _be_ one of those guys. Randy's the guy who's so cold in the ring that it scares people, he's the guy who makes people wonder if they're getting out of this match alive. And he's alright with that.

Hell, it's better than being on ECW.

Randy doesn't care that people shuffle away from him when he heads into the canteen. He doesn't care that people go out of their way to make room for him when he's walking down a hallway. He doesn't care that he scares people, because to be honest, they _should_ be afraid. Most of the time _he_ doesn't even know what he's going to do next.

People don't matter. Randy doesn't have any need for them. They just complicate things in the end, and he swore that after Evolution, he wouldn't do another stable.

It's funny, he thinks, as he shifts his bag of gear up his shoulder and pushes open the door to Legacy's locker room, how things can change but still stay the same.

Granted, it's different when you're the leader of the group. In Evolution, everything had been about getting the gold for Triple H, and if you weren't helping Hunter get that belt, there was no point to you. That was made abundantly clear to Randy. There's no room in wrestling to be happy for your friends, not when they've got what you want.

Maybe that's why Legacy works; neither Ted nor Cody is really in the title picture. Yet, at least. Randy's sure that eventually that'll change, but at the moment, they're content going after the tag belts.

Randy isn't stupid. He knows this isn't permanent. Nothing's permanent in the WWE, especially partnerships. But this, at the moment, it's... stable. It's working. And, though Randy won't ever tell either of them out loud, it's nice to know that if he's getting beat down in the ring, there are people who'll do something about it other than watch.

"Hey," he greets. Ted's not there yet. He always gets there a little later, because Cody drives like a maniac and nobody wants to ride with him. 

Cody's busy winding tape around his wrists, but he spares a smile for Randy as he drops his bag on the bench next to Cody. "Hey, champ. Good week?"

"Not bad," Randy replies agreeably. This, he likes this. Cody and Ted never act like they're expecting something from him. They don't shut him out or anything but neither of them gives off the impression that they're waiting for him to contribute to the conversation. 

That's good, because Randy's not much of a talker on his good days, and on his bad days he's as like to throw a punch as he is answer a question.

Cody and Ted get that. They get that too well, on occasion, able to tell with just a look that they won't be getting anything out of Randy and instead keeping to a corner of the locker room, talking quietly about nothing in particular. 

(Sometimes Randy will just sit on the other end of the bench, close his eyes, and let their voices wash over him until he calms down a little. It's oddly soothing, listening to low voices talk about wrestling, reminds him vaguely of Christmases when he was a kid, weaving through peoples' legs and listening to big old wrestlers talk about work while his dad played host.)

They don't talk while they're prepping for the show. There's no rule against it or anything but Randy doesn't initiate a dialogue and Cody's busy humming while he gets out his boots, so for a while that's the only sound that fills the room. 

Cody hums while he does a lot of things. Randy's noticed because Randy notices everything. That's one of the great parts of being fear-inducing; people are trying so hard to not get in your way that they forget themselves, get distracted, let things slip that they shouldn't or, like Cody, drop into old habits.

Randy's not sure why he does it. Something to distract himself, maybe, or a way to fill the silence? He doesn't know. He's not going to ask, either, even though Cody would tell him.

"Talked to Ted?" Randy finally says, meticulously lacing up his left boot. He tripped over his bootlace and nearly broke his neck wrestling Mysterio back in '06, and ever since he's triple-checked to make sure his knots are tight. He doesn't really give a shit where Ted is, but he supposes it's his job to know that kind of thing.

Cody's humming drops off like he'd never been doing it in the first place. "Earlier today, not since this morning. Is he late?" Frowning, he checks the clock on the wall.

"He's always late," Randy says wryly. Not very professional, but being professional in this business is mostly a waste of time. It's more efficient and much more fun to kick people in the head to get what you want. "Give him a few more minutes, then call him."

"You got it," Cody responds immediately. Randy likes that about Cody. He tells Cody to do something, and Cody does it. With Ted, sometimes he gets a sulky look or a half-hearted argument, but Cody's always happy to listen without hesitation. Randy supposes that when your first tag team partner is Bob Holly, anybody else being a little demanding must seem like nothing at all.

Cody doesn't end up having to make the call, because Ted doesn't take much longer, banging into the room and shattering the quiet there had been. Randy gives him a glare, but it's not at full capacity and he drops it once Ted starts squirming, looking like he's going to start babbling apologies.

Randy doesn't like apologies. He likes efficiency.

"Get your gear on; you and Cody have a match. Middle of the show but you'll need to strategize." Randy doesn't waste breath. Ted's not the type of person who needs to be coddled, and Randy's definitely not the type of person who coddles people. 

Ted's countenance settles, his face relaxing into a mask of confidence-tinged blankness. Randy knows that look; he's seen that look in the mirror. 

Sometimes (like right now) it hits him that he's basically training these two kids to be like him. Randy didn't expect this when he started training to be a wrestler. He thought he'd mostly – wrestle. He didn't think he'd have protégés, or whatever. He doesn't think he's suited for it, but Teddy's not seriously injured yet, and Cody doesn't stop smiling automatically when Randy enters the room, so Randy's already a better mentor than Hunter was.

Randy wonders if he'll ever stop comparing himself to Hunter. Considering it's been five years, probably not. He doesn't know what that says about him.

"I'm getting a water," he says aloud. He's almost surprised to find he's been automatically going through his stretching routine as he was thinking. He tucks his right foot back underneath him, easy traction on the dirty floor, and stands upright. "Anyone else need one?"

"If you're offering," says Cody, while Ted declines, holding up his own half-empty bottle in explanation. A faint voice in Randy's head pipes up, reminding him that proper hydration is important if he doesn't want to pass out in the middle of a match. The voice sounds vaguely like Hunter. Fuck, Randy wishes Hunter wasn’t still around. Anyone but Hunter, he can deal with. Not because he’s scared of Hunter but because he’s sick of feeling like he’s always doomed to repeat his old mistakes.

Randy needs to stop wrestling people who were in Evolution. Hell, maybe Flair'll come out of retirement again and hobble to the ring and challenge Randy to another match. At least Randy knows he's able to beat Ric. Might break the man’s hip or something, but he can beat Ric.

"You okay, boss?" 

Cody's voice breaks into Randy's thoughts, and he realizes he's just been standing in the locker room thinking about his old stable-buddies for who knows how long. It's a good think he's rocking the whole crazy vibe, because he thinks he might be mid-mental breakdown. Damn Hunter. Damn everything, really.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You and Teddy focus on your match." Randy gives his head a shake. "Water," he says firmly. Right, he was going to get water. "I'll be back. If anyone tries to talk to you, shout Stranger Danger."

Cody laughs and Ted looks half amused, half cautious. Randy thinks that might be the second joke he's made today. No wonder Ted's confused; Randy might have to spit on some old ladies later to make sure he hasn't lost his touch.

Venturing out of their locker room is always an adventure, because chances are at any point Randy's pissed someone off enough that they'll try to attack him from behind. It's been tense enough lately that they don't generally travel without utilizing the buddy system. Childish, but effective. 

Cody and Ted have a match to prepare for, though, and despite what some people seem to think, Randy is fully capable of defending himself if need be.

As fate would have it, though, nobody approaches Randy on his way there or the way back. He thinks Christian might give him a dirty look, but that might just be Christian's face. Randy's not sure.

"Catch," he says, tossing the water bottle to Cody once he closes the door to the room. Cody catches it almost without looking, offering Randy a grateful smile and a quiet thanks. Randy nearly decapitated him with the water bottle, and Cody just thanked him.

Most days, Randy's really unsure of how he's earned these kids listening to what he has to say.

He definitely doesn't _deserve_ it, hasn't done anything to make them think he'd be a good mentor, hasn't done anything to make them think he'd make a good friend. They're not friends. They're business partners, of a sort, business partners who sometimes talk about things other than business.

He’s seen them attacked time and time again for no reason other than their association with Randy, has left them to get peoples’ finishing moves more times than he can count, has done his own finishing move on both of their fathers, has kicked Ted in the head so hard it nearly ended his career before it really started, and yet, they’re still here, with him. If he were anyone else, he might say they were his friends, but they aren’t.

Because Randy doesn't do friends.

"Got everything figured out?" he asks, twisting the cap off his own bottle and taking a swig. The water's icy cold, refreshing, clears his head. He's unusually distracted tonight, and that's bad when everyone and their fucking father, literally, wants to see him at the very least seriously injured.

Comes along with the territory when you piss off the boss and kiss his daughter, Randy guesses. Got Hunter's attention, though, which is what he wanted. Randy needs to get his head in the game before it gets knocked off his shoulders. In this business, when you get distracted, you get hit, and Randy doesn't handle getting hit very well.

Oddly enough, he doesn't really want Cody or Ted getting hit, either, because he was being careless. In the ring, anything goes; they're good enough and they've been tagging together enough that they should both be more than prepared to handle matches. Outside the ring, though, neither of them's any match for someone with the experience of Triple H or the sheer size of Batista (even if Batista’s injured right now), and... and Randy doesn't want them getting hurt because of his battle.

Because they're his responsibility, and because if either of them gets injured, he has less backup. Not because they're his friends. That would be ludicrous. Randy doesn't have friends.

At least, he doesn't have friends out loud.

Ted's been talking while Randy's been lost in thought. Randy hasn't heard a word. He dumps the rest of the water over his head, and it's a harsh, bracing bite of cold that shocks him back into the now. There. Now maybe he'll be able to stay in the present, paying attention to what's going on around him.

"... and we thought since they're not really mat-based it'd be better to overwhelm them there, try and ground them instead of trying to out-fly them."

"Good, that's good." The Colons are good, former tag team champs, but, well – so are Cody and Ted, twice over, and they work well together. Honestly, they're better at tagging than Randy is, which might explain why they've got two tag title reigns under their belts while Randy only had the one, with Edge, what seems like forever ago.

Anyway, they're good at tag strategy, and Randy usually leaves them to it. Carlito and Primo are good wrestlers, and a great tag team, but Cody and Ted are better, Randy knows that for a fact. Cody and Ted are the best tag team in the WWE at the moment, and if they weren't focused on Randy's title aspirations, he doubts the belts would ever leave their waists.

Maybe Randy's more like Hunter than he'd like to think. Oh, well. Nothing other people haven't already told him.

Now that Randy's got the belt again, Ted and Cody can focus more on the tag division. Randy sort of likes the idea of all of them holding gold at once.

"Hey," he says thoughtfully, still half-mulling the idea over in his head. "Who're the tag champs now? Still Edge and Jericho?"

There's a pause for a moment. Apparently neither of them were expecting that question out of him. Randy has to suppress a smile. He does like to surprise people.

"Yeah, they are," Cody says slowly. He's narrowed his eyes at Randy, tilting his head like he's trying to figure Randy out. Randy thinks about telling him it's useless, but truth be told, he likes that there's at least someone left who'll bother to try.

"You want us to take them out?" asks Ted, frowning a little. Not in disagreement, just in consideration. "Think they're gonna try to go after you?"

It's not a bad thought process; after all, both Edge and Jericho are former world champions, and you never really stop hungering for it after you've won it the first time. Randy knows that from personal experience. Either Edge or Jericho would be a tough fight, and Randy doesn't really want to have to deal with them.

"This weekend, we can start you both training to wrestle for the tag belts. I know you could win 'em now, but Edge and Jericho are tricky, and I know their styles better than you do. We can spar Saturday." He looks back at the both of them seriously. "Up for it?"

Ted's clearly pleased, but Cody looks like he's about ready to up and hug Randy for what he's just said.

"Really?" Cody asks, grinning. "You're serious?"

"No, I'm joking. I'm always serious, Cody," Randy says, rolling his eyes.

Cody raises his eyebrows at him. "No, you're not," he says quietly. Randy doesn't really know what he's supposed to say to that, so he doesn't say anything to it, instead returning to the subject at hand.

"I've got the title locked down, and you're the best tag team in this company. Makes no sense not to take advantage of that." He looks first to Cody, then to Ted. "I've got no doubt you could take Edge and Jericho in a fair fight, but it's them, so it's not going to be a fair fight. They won't fight clean so neither will you, got it?"

"You got it, boss." Cody gives him a smile, his eyebrows now normally cocked. "There aren't too many teams here we haven't already gotten wins over, if we can get enough momentum we could probably be number one contenders in less'n the month."

"Good. You can start by getting a win tonight." Randy nods to signal the end of the conversation. He's been with Cody and Ted long enough that they both realize that, and busy themselves discussing strategy against the other tag teams in the division while Randy crouches to get his title belt out of his bag.

He rubs a thumb over the gaudy jewels on the front of the thing. They're tacky as hell, but they're John Cena's, and Randy's a fan of anything that'll remind him that he's taken the thing that matters most to John Cena in the entire world. He might not have won it from Cena himself, but the thing's got Cena written all over it, and Randy _really_ doesn't like John Cena.

When he turns, strapping the belt around his waist where it belongs, Cody's giving him a look that's hard to decipher from over Ted's shoulder. It looks contemplative, and considering, and... Randy's got a match to get ready for. He turns away to do his shoulder stretches. Damn thing’s been acting up lately.

The night could go worse. Triple H tries to fuck with Ted and Cody and Cody nails him with a chair, and they win their tag match, and nobody kills or attempts to kill Randy, so it's better than most other Mondays, anyway.

The championship's basically like a target hanging around Randy's waist, so it's not like he isn't expecting people to try to take him out. He just hates when people try to get to him through Ted and Cody. They can defend themselves, Randy's made sure of that, and he wouldn't have agreed to be in a group with them if they couldn't hack it, but he still hates that they're going to be attacked for being associated with him. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

"Your arm okay?" he asks Cody quietly, watching him unwrap his wrist tape. He'd noticed while he was watching their tag match, Cody's wrist got caught up in the ropes and Randy knows that's never fun. Carlito'd noticed it too, and he'd focused almost entirely on Cody's right arm for the rest of the match until Ted caught him at an opportune moment to pick up the three count.

"Yeah." Cody hisses, flexing his wrist once he's rid of the tape. "Just have to wrap it more heavily for SmackDown, I think, but I'll be fine by the weekend."

"Ice it," Randy instructs. Cody'll know to do that himself, but Randy wants to make sure. He holds out a hand. "Let me see."

Cody doesn't ask questions, just offers Randy the injured arm. It's bizarre that Cody trusts him that much. With the arm already injured, Randy could probably damage it enough that Cody'd need surgery. Randy could ruin Cody's career.

The clinical, cold part of his brain wonders if he'd be able to feel the bone snap, until the rational part returns. He's not going to hurt Cody. He likes Cody. Well, as much as he likes anybody.

"Just bruised?" Randy asks, stroking the pads of his thumbs up the bones in Cody's wrist. Nothing's broken, that much Randy can tell just from feel. He's got some experience with both broken bones and arm injuries.

He's always sort of amazed by how brittle the bones of the human skeleton are. Cody's feel kind of like a bird's would, slim and fragile, even if Cody isn't fragile at all. People have made the mistake of underestimating Cody before, assuming that because he's slender and sort of pretty in the face that he'll be a pushover, but Cody's quick and smart and strong. It's why Randy'd wanted him on his team.

"Yeah, nothing broken." It takes Randy a moment to realize that Cody's answering his question. "Like I said, I'll ice it tonight and then wrap heavy for SmackDown. I'll be ready for Saturday," he adds quickly. Like there was any doubt of that. Even if Cody's wrist was still hurting him by the weekend, Randy knows he'd power through it. Cody doesn't like it when people think he's weak.

"I know you will," Randy murmurs. He's still touching Cody's wrist, fingers brushing lightly where he can see the skin is darker, beginning to bruise. It'll be swollen by the morning. "Don't put weight on it. Don't wanna draw out the healing process."

"Randy," Cody says. It's that that draws Randy's attention more than anything. Cody hardly ever calls him Randy. It's always 'boss' or 'champ' or sometimes a joking 'sir'. Randy looks up and Cody catches his gaze. "I know how to treat a sprain, promise. Been doing this a while," he says with a sardonic twist of his lips.

Sometimes Randy falls into the trap everyone else falls into, thinking Cody's just a rookie, only really in the business for about a year and a half. The truth is that Cody's been hanging around the business about as long as Randy has, in total, growing up around wrestlers and wrestling. He knows what he's doing. It's the other reason Randy'd wanted Cody in his group: because oftentimes, whether Randy wants to think about it or not, Cody reminds him an awful lot of himself before Hunter’d turned him into someone else.

"Yeah, you have," Randy hears himself say. Cody's holding Randy's eyes, which is more than Randy can say for pretty much everyone. Even Ted's uneasy enough around him that he can't look Randy in the eye sometimes, and so's most of the rest of the roster. The only other people who can look Randy in the eye without flinching aren't people Randy likes talking to all that much.

He's surprised to find that he does like talking to Cody. It's easy. Easier than the rest of his life, anyway. Maybe he should do it more often. It can't hurt.

"Ice this," he repeats. "I want you a hundred percent by the weekend."

And just like that, everything's back to normal, time spinning by at its normal pace as Cody grins at him with a, "Yes sir," and a sloppy salute. Ted gets out of the shower soon after that and they all go their separate ways. Randy knows from experience that Ted likes to work off the energy of a good match with a drink or two, while Cody prefers to be alone afterwards. He can see parts of himself in both of them; in the way he used to be and in the way he is now. They really are good matches for him.

Where Evolution was supposed to be the past, present, and future of wrestling, Randy thinks Legacy is more like the past, present, and future of himself. Whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be seen, but it's a lot fucking better than being Triple H's lackey, that's for damn sure.

Cody's right, of course, because Cody's usually right and that's infuriating and a half, but useful in this case. He's always been a pretty fast healer, bouncing back from injuries almost as quickly as he gets them. He's not as injury prone as Randy was at his age – Christ, "at his age", Randy's not even thirty yet–but he does seem to get banged up more than Ted does. That might be because all their opponents go after him first because they think he’s the weak link, though.

By the weekend, Cody's all healed up and ready to wreak some havoc on Edge and Jericho. Ted's yawning, because it's early enough that they've ensured nobody else'll be using the ring to spar, meaning it's practically still dark outside.

"Their obvious weak spot is Edge's neck, but they know that, too. Edge keeps his neck pretty well defended, so you'll probably want to go for their other weak spot: knees." Randy's pacing, ready to get his energy out somehow, wanting to _hit_ someone. "They've both got bad knees. You don't stay in the business this long _without_ bad knees. Try for submissions, knock their legs out from underneath them. Who wants to go first?" he asks, looking from Cody to Ted expectantly.

Ted's snoring, almost, so Cody snorts and ruffles his hair before hopping up to stand across the ring from Randy. "Try to take your legs out?" he clarifies, eying Randy from the corner turnbuckle. "You've got a lot of leg, boss."

"Edge is my height." Randy's nearly bouncing in place, ready to strike. "It'll be a good replacement. Go."

Randy's already thinking like he would if this was a real match. This is as much practice for him as it is for Cody. Cody's not at all like Cena or Batista or Hunter, but he's got the same kind of build and basic style as Shawn Michaels does, and Randy has no doubts that Hunter's going to bring his best friend into this sooner or later.

Cody's quick. Randy only barely dodges his punch, expecting it when Cody sweeps his legs out from underneath him. He doesn't seem to be thinking too far ahead, though, because Randy gets him on his back pretty easily, an arm across his throat. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears.

"Your left side was open." Randy frowns, looking at Cody more closely. "Right arm still bothering you?"

"Nah," Cody grumbles. He lifts his arm to flex it, to prove it's not hurting. "Reflex, I was training for SmackDown. Won't happen again, sorry."

Randy gives him another hard look, but Cody meets his eyes unflinchingly, so Randy figures he's probably telling the truth. "Make sure it doesn't," he says, getting to his feet and offering Cody a hand up. "Go again."

It goes more smoothly the second time. Cody doesn't immediately go for the legs, instead going for a headlock and then an arm drag. It's a good strategy, throw them off guard. There's no way Jericho's going to be prepared for Cody or Ted to try to beat him in mat wrestling, and Edge'll expect the headlock as a neck attack, won't be thinking they'll go for the knees. Smart. Really smart. Randy's taught him well.

"Better," he allows when Cody gets him on the mat in position for a figure four. He knows from experience that anyone with bad knees won't last long in that submission.

Cody smiles widely at him. He smiles too much. Randy doesn't like it. There's no way Randy should be the reason for anyone smiling like that.

"Yeah?" Cody asks, as he releases Randy and stands up. He's got so much – maybe it's because he doesn't ever wear any goddamn kneepads, but Cody always seems like he's got too many limbs, like there's just too much of him when he's got his gear on. "You want to try again with me doing my best HBK impression?"

Randy's not surprised that Cody knows Randy was using this sparring session as a way to train both of them. Cody's intuitive like that. He's taller than Shawn, but he'll do, and Randy doesn't really have other options.

"Yeah. Thanks," he adds. He amuses himself for a moment thinking of how many people would pass out if they heard Randy thanking somebody.

Cody's posture shifts, and Randy can tell the difference immediately. He's got a more relaxed gait, his legs braced wider so that his center of gravity is lower, his shoulders dropping and the focus drawn to the middle of the body instead of his legs. It's actually astonishing, and something Randy loves to watch, when he's sparring with Cody. Cody can adjust his style just enough to mimic almost anyone. He doesn't have the pure strength that the bigger guys do, but that's about all he can't do.

Randy's never met anyone else who can do that. He doesn't know if anybody else _can_ do that. It's normal to be able to adjust the way you wrestle to fight better against different opponents, but to be able to change your technique enough that it mirrors someone else's? Unheard of. And so incredibly useful.

Randy's really glad Cody's in his group.

Randy has wrestled Shawn Michaels too many times to count, and Cody's got his style down well. Once they get going, it's all too easy to forget that this is practice, and he's just wrestling to win the match. Cody's giving as well as he gets, and nearly gets Randy with a superkick that Randy ducks and reverses automatically into an RKO.

He remembers just in time that he's wrestling Cody, who's on his side, and who he really doesn't want to injure. He twists his grip enough that the impact of the move'll be on his shoulders instead of Cody's neck, but they still land pretty heavily.

"Shit," Randy mumbles. "You okay?" He rolls out of the move and takes a knee next to Cody, resting a hand on his chest.

"Huh? Yeah." Cody coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you cushioned it in time, no worries. I'm fine."

"Sorry, man." As a rule, Randy doesn't apologize for, well, anything, but it's warranted in this case. In general, using your finishing move on your accomplices is a bad idea, and it's an even worse idea when you're trying to help them win the tag titles.  
Cody waves it off. "Told you, I'm fine. Ted's turn, though, I think I'm due a water break." He grasps the hand Randy offers him and pulls himself up, giving his head a shake and then rolling his neck. He gives Randy a thumbs up when he notices he's still being observed. "Swear, I'm okay. I've taken your finishing move before. I do this for a living, you know."

Randy's lips twitch a little. "I hadn't heard that, actually. What's your name again?"

"Bite me," Cody replies, another grin on his face. He waves a hand toward Ted, who is now fast asleep again. "Maybe you should RKO him too, that'd wake him up."

"Not in the habit of doing my finisher on my allies, believe it or not." Randy shakes his head, giving Cody's shoulder a squeeze. "Hit the showers, rookie."

He's both expecting and not at all expecting the punch to his arm. "I'll show you rookie," Cody grumbles, but he's still smiling as he slides out of the ring.

Randy doesn't RKO Ted, but he does dump a bottle of water over his head until he jumps up, spluttering. He thinks Cody smiles at him for that, too, but Cody's almost always smiling, so it's probably just a coincidence.

By Monday, Randy's satisfied that Cody and Ted could take Edge and Jericho in any assortment of match types and stipulations. There aren't many tag teams who're vying for the titles. Maybe Hunter and Shawn would if they weren't so busy being a pain in Randy's ass, but the truth of the matter is that you need world champions to beat a team of world champions.

There's no doubt in Randy's mind that Ted and Cody are potential tag champions and this is the perfect opportunity to prove it. With CM Punk occupied playing mind games with Jeff Hardy, Miz and Morrison broken up, and most of the other former champions coming after Randy, Edge and Jericho probably feel pretty safe with the titles in hand. That's going to change, sooner rather than later.

"How d'you feel about making your tag title aspirations perfectly clear tonight?" Randy asks, a smirk settling comfortable on his face. He's ready for tonight, ready to fight, and ready to show that Ted and Cody can fight as well. They've been underestimated until now, even though they've proved that together, they can take out anybody.

Ted looks pleased with this suggestion. "Interrupt their match? Come through the crowd?"

"Yeah, give 'em a surprise. Take a chair or two for leverage if you want. Can't hurt to weaken them before you take the titles from them." Randy shrugs, flipping a chair around backwards and straddling it. He feels best when he's feeling bloodthirsty, really, and his head almost throbs with how much he wants to take out Hunter tonight. "I'll be watching. Don't mess up."

"We've got your back, champ." Cody looks like he's amped to go as well. Maybe Randy's energy's rubbing off on him, but he's bouncing in his boots and rolling his shoulders like he's aching to punch something, or more likely, someone.

Randy knows that feeling. Hell, Randy practically lives that feeling. Cody's grinning again, a manic tinge to it that Randy likes. Randy's heard what people think, that Randy's crazy, fucked in the head, and that Ted and Cody must be fucked in the head too for following him. Randy thinks the world's what's fucked, though. Ted and Cody and him, sometimes, it's the only thing that makes sense at all.

"Make me proud." Randy's tone is only half joking, and Cody's smile grows wider, his shoulder bumping against Ted's.

Ted bumps him back, and then they're scuffling on the floor like the kids they sort of are. Randy's not that much older than either of them, but he's been in this business since '02 and he's run the gamut while he's been here. Cody and Ted, they've got the mindset, and they've clearly got the talent, they just don't quite have the experience, yet. But they will. And then Legacy really will be unstoppable.

"Alright, alright, break it up," Randy says, lightly kicking Cody's leg from where he's got Ted in a headlock on the floor. They weren't really fighting, he knows that, but better safe than sorry. "You've got a match to get ready to interrupt."

"Thought the tag match wasn't until the middle of the show?" Cody asks from where Ted, despite Randy's words, has twisted him into a half Boston Crab. "Get off me, loser," grumbles Cody, twisting until he can flip Ted onto his back and sit on him. Ted makes a show of dramatically sighing and splaying his limbs out on the floor.

Maybe Randy shouldn't let them do things like this, should demand that they stay focused and serious and determined all the time, but he has a soft spot for when they act like the dumbass rookies that they are at heart. And, well, nobody else is in the room to see it.

"Are you done?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the both of them. Cody just smiles at him, and crosses one leg over the other. Randy needs to get him some kneepads or something. He's _got_ kneepads that he never wears, Randy's seen them in his bag, so he doesn't know why Cody never puts them on. "You know, I hear crushing your tag team partner to death isn't a good way to win the tag titles, Rhodes."

"You callin' me fat, Orton?" Cody replies, using the bench to pull himself up off of Ted.

Randy just gives him a deadpan look, because Cody's about as slender as some of the Divas, and he knows it.

"Shut up," Cody says casually, offering Ted a hand to pull him up as well. It means he's not paying attention to the way Randy's entire expression shifts for a moment, to bewilderment and back again. Which is good, because he almost undoubtedly would've asked about it, and Randy has no answer other than _I like that you talk to me without being afraid_.

Randy clears his throat and jerks his head toward the door. "Match got moved up on the card," he says, answering the question Cody had asked however long ago. "Should be starting soon. Pick the most opportune time to make an impact. Don't leave anyone else standing in that ring."

There's a glint in Cody's eye when he responds, "Not a problem," in a way that makes Randy believe that it really won't be a problem. Efficiency. Certainty. Things Randy likes.

He watches the tag match from the locker room for the first half, then, when he thinks it might be about time for Cody and Ted to make their entrance, he leaves to watch in the monitor bay. Mind games are best played with an audience.

There aren't too many people there, but enough that he's sure it'll get around that he smiles when Cody and Ted storm the ring, chairs in hand. At least two people noticeably shift farther away from him while he's sitting there, and he can feel more than one pair of eyes watching his reaction as his stable-mates completely destroy Edge and Jericho, as well as the Colons, their opponents for the night.

Cody and Ted raise the chairs they used above their heads as the Legacy theme music blares through the arena. Randy gets up and walks back to their locker room, casual as anything, his smile widening as he hears the frantic whispering begin behind him.

Randy's waiting for them when they tumble through the door, sweaty and vibrant and victorious, half laughing and half shouting with their arms around each other’s' shoulders. Randy knows, it's a rush to take down four people at once, and to do it with a chair is exhilarating.

"Did you hear the crowd?" Cody hoots. "They didn't know whether to boo or cheer!"

"Guess they didn't know who they hate more, us or them," snickers Ted. He shuts the door behind him. "That felt good, I needed that." He drops his weapon on the floor, the steel of the chair dented and bent. "We should beat people with chairs more often, if it feels that good every time."

Randy laughs quietly. "Good job out there. They're paying attention now. That's good."

"They should never stop paying attention." Cody's grin is more of a bare of his teeth, feral and bright. "We practically run this place. There's nobody better than us. We're the _best_."

Randy has to smile at that, because they _are_ the best, the three of them, they're virtually unstoppable right now. Randy likes that. There's nobody in the WWE who can beat them when they're this much of a team, all working toward a common goal.

Toward the end of the show, Randy gets one over on Cena, and the high from that combined with the success from earlier in the night means he's not really expecting to be waylaid in the parking lot. Cody and Ted are still packing up their gear when Randy's ready to get back to his hotel room, so he heads out with one last congratulations on the complete success of the night.

He really should've known better than to go off alone when he's pissed off so many people in one night, but, well, hindsight's 20/20. Whether he should've been or not, he isn't expecting the low voice from off to the side.

"You set your lackeys on me, Randy."

Shit, Edge. Randy does some quick thinking as he turns. He thinks he can take Edge on his own. Edge just got the crap kicked out of him with a chair, which he's clearly harboring some resentment toward Randy for, but if Edge isn't alone, if he has Jericho with him, Randy's just not sure he's got an advantage.

Thankfully, Edge appears to be alone. Pissed, but alone. Randy shrugs, carefully eying Edge in case he needs to dodge an attack.

"Nothing personal. You've just got something we want." He adjust his grip on his bag so that, as a last resort, he can swing it. It's got his title in it, which is something like fifteen pounds, so it could probably cause enough damage for him to be able to get to his car, anyway.

"Nothing personal," Edge says incredulously. "Nothing personal? Your little minions nearly beat me to death!"

"You're clearly fine," Randy says pointedly. "And so far as I remember, nobody's ever won a title by being nice and waiting for someone to offer them a shot at it." He tilts his head. "We certainly didn't."

Seems like forever ago, when he and Edge won the titles Cody and Ted are going for now. Won them from Hunter and Shawn, actually. Apparently Randy's doomed to just have the same match over and over again his entire career. He's so sick of Hunter.

Edge's eyes narrow further. Then he smiles, cold and more snake-like than everyone's been accusing Randy of. That's why they'd made such a good team, Randy thinks. They're both egotistical assholes who're willing to do anything they have to, and, at the time, they'd both hated Hunter. Randy doesn't know how Edge feels about Hunter now.

"Just watch your back, Randy. I've known you for a long time, I know your weak spots, I know how to get into your head. You think it's bad having Triple H as your enemy? He's got nothing on me. You stay out of my business."

Randy knows that in some ways that's true, and in others it's not. Maybe if this was still 2004, but Hunter's not as good now. He's lost his touch, all caught up in _caring_ about people and trying to be a _good person_. Edge doesn't have any qualms about ripping off heads.

And Randy does honestly think Edge would leave him alone if Randy left him alone. It's not like they've been enemies since they stopped tagging together; while they certainly aren't friends, Edge has no reason to go after Randy right now. He's not in the title picture, though he's probably not happy about that.

But Randy wants the tag titles. And Randy's gotten pretty used to getting what he wants.

"No can do," he says lowly. "You've got what I want. You know how this business works."

Edge's eyes flick over Randy's shoulder for a moment, and his lip curls up in distaste. Randy's expecting the voice from behind him this time.

"Problem?" asks Ted, his voice quiet and accusatory. Randy knows without looking that Ted's ready to attack if Randy needs him to, can hear the way his clothing shifts as he tenses.

Randy tilts his head. "No problem, Teddy," he says softly. "Edge was just leaving, weren't you, Adam?"

He relishes in the flash of rage that gets him in Edge's face. Edge isn't the only one who can get into peoples' heads, and Randy has no problem reminding him that Randy's practically made a career out of playing mind games with people.

"Cody's coming," Ted murmurs, probably too low for Edge to hear. "You didn't answer your phone, he said he thought he saw Edge heading toward the parking garage."

"I don't think he's going to try anything," Randy mutters back. He doesn't take his eyes off Edge. "Don't let your guard down."

Edge is a crafty son of a bitch, always has been, and Randy's not going to assume he won't wait until they think he's gone and then hit from behind. 

Cody's footsteps echo in the large space, though, as he comes up on Randy's other side, and Randy shifts to accommodate him. He doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. There are three of them and one of Edge. Randy can almost see when Edge stops looking for openings and instead subtly backs down.

He looks vaguely considering, though, and Randy doesn't like that. He has no idea what kind of weakness he could've given away, but he's clearly given away something because rather than looking pissed off, Edge looks vindictive and triumphant. Never a good look on a former world champion.

"Watch yourself, Randy." Edge grins at him, and Randy doesn't know why, but his stomach drops. There's no reason Edge should be grinning right now. "Remember, I know your weak spots. _All_ of them."

Randy has no idea what the hell the weird emphasis was about, but Edge leaves, weaving through the other cars in the lot, so he doesn't have to think about it right now.

"Probably shouldn't go anywhere alone during the show for a while," he allows, turning to Ted and Cody with a frown. "That was stupid. _Stupid_."

"Clearly we didn't hit him hard enough," Cody mutters, casting a dark look toward where Edge was standing. "What did he want, anyway? Looking for another beatdown?"

"To try and talk me out of you going for the tag titles, I think." Randy frowns, still thinking over the last thing Edge had said. "You know, watch my back, stay out of his business. Blowing smoke about how he knows all my weak spots."

"We'll take care of him," Ted says, hitching his bag up his shoulder with a humorless smile. "You've got enough to worry about without that psychopath going after you, too. Leave him to us."

Randy claps Ted on the shoulder. "Thanks for the backup," he says reluctantly. He likes to think he could take Edge on his own, considering everyone knows Edge's used up most of the slots on his bump card and is running on nothing but steam, but the fact remains that Edge is damn good, and Randy's just not sure, even if he hadn't showed it.

"Of course," says Cody, all surprised, like it wouldn't have occurred to him _not_ to have Randy's back. Randy guesses it probably actually wouldn't have occurred to him. It makes him feel weirdly fond. He's not sure if he likes it or not.

"I didn't like the way he was talking," Randy says under his breath. Something about what Edge said sets his teeth on edge, makes him think there's something he should be paying attention to.

He finds out what that something is on SmackDown. Really should've been expecting it, the whole thing is Edge's fucked up style. Jericho's, too, but Randy has no doubt that it's Edge's plan.

Cody and Ted are mid-match when all of a sudden they're ambushed by Edge and Jericho, both pissed, both obviously banged up from Raw. The weird thing, though, is that they leave Ted alone, dropping him with a chair shot and then both working Cody over when Ted's out of the picture. Edge is getting ready to do that stupid fucking move with Cody's head sandwiched between two chairs, and a shot like that could take Cody out for, for _weeks_ , for months, even. Cody can't move to get away, Jericho's got him in the Walls, and-

Randy doesn't know why they chose to focus on Cody, but he sees red, and then it's like he blinks and he's gone from the locker room to the ring all in one moment, and he's beating the shit out of Edge with a chair and then Jericho too for good measure, frenzied and half-terrified and all rage.

His mind is on fire and ice cold at the same time, and the only thing that breaks through eventually is – "Randy, you're gonna kill him!" – and that's Ted's voice, and maybe Randy's first clear thought is that it wouldn't be such a bad thing, but Ted's hurt, Ted and Cody are hurt and Randy's in charge of them. They're his responsibility and they're hurt.

He drops the chair, nearly spits on Jericho, and crouches down where Cody's groaning, coming to. His back's got to be killing him. Jericho's finisher is damn painful.

"Ted, help him up, we need to get out of here," Randy mumbles. He's scanning the ring, making sure Edge and Jericho are really, truly down. Neither looks like they're getting up any time soon, as Ted gets Cody's arm up over his shoulder to help him to his feet.

He wouldn't put it past Hunter to try and get to Randy while he's vulnerable and has no backup. He quickly gets under Cody's other side, noticing in the back of his mind that the crowd isn't booing, isn't cheering, seems kind of unsure what to think. Not that Randy really cares what they think, but it's interesting to see that apparently even the bloodthirsty WWE universe doesn't like seeing a rookie nearly get his head taken off.

"Randy?" asks Cody, quietly. He sounds confused.

"Yeah, it's me and Teddy." Randy gives Cody's back a quick pat.

"Shit," states Cody succinctly. "I don't like them."

"Neither do I." Randy gives the ring a dark look before they carefully slide out, keeping Cody between them.

The look on his face keeps everyone away from them, and between them they manage to get Cody back to the locker room and laid down on a bench. They're not the most comfortable things, but they'll work until Cody can get somewhere with a bed or a cot.

"Teddy. Ice." Randy doesn't have to say anything else before Ted's out the door. Randy wouldn't let him go it on his own but he can't leave Cody alone like this and the trainer's room is just down the hall. Ted'll be in and out in a few minutes.

Cody hisses, shifting on the bench. "Guess we know what Edge meant now, when he said not to mess with him."

"Yeah," mutters Randy, checking Cody's ribs to make sure none of them are broken. Edge packs a good chair swing. Cody grunts a few times, but they're bruised at worst. "Might need to wrap these," he warns.

"There's one thing I don't understand," Cody says. Randy can tell he's trying for conversational but the strain in his voice doesn't lend itself to that. "How are me and Ted one of your weaknesses? It doesn't make any sense, why he'd say that. We back you up all the time, we’re one of your strengths, if anything."

Randy focuses very intently on feeling Cody's individual ribs. Dangerous business, when you mess with ribs. They're delicate, snap like twigs. "Does he need a reason? He's an asshole."

"Well, yeah," Cody says reasonably. "I don't know. Guess the wording's just bugging me."

Randy sighs. "Don't – he, you know," he mutters. He's not good at this. He sighs. "He was right. He knows my weak spots. You might be able to tell that I sort of. You know, you and Ted are the only people I really ever, uh, talk to. I have trust issues. I don't really trust... people."

He's not really surprised when Cody squints at him.

"What, like that's shocking? Obviously you don't trust people. Nobody trusts people, in the WWE."

"I don't trust people," Randy repeats, a little louder, between gritted teeth. He really wishes he didn’t have to say this. It should be obvious, and apparently, at least to Edge, it _is_ obvious. “But I trust Ted. And I trust you. Okay?” He slowly, reluctantly, lifts his eyes to meet Cody’s.

Cody’s got a look on his face like he’s trying not to smile, biting his lip, and Randy is half-tempted to just break the damn ribs himself.

“Wow, how much did that hurt for you to have to say right now?” Cody asks. He laughs, and then cringes, curling in on himself. “You’re allowed to like me, you know. You did just nearly kill Chris Jericho for me, you can say that I’m your friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” Randy mutters. “I don’t want to like you.”

"Ice!" announces Ted from the door. When Randy jerks his head around to look at him, he looks vaguely weirded out, holding the bag of ice in front of him like a shield. Randy is both thankful that he doesn't have to finish this conversation and not thankful because Cody's got his teeth into it now and there's no way Randy’ll be able to avoid having this conversation _altogether_.

Cody drops it for now, though, huffing and grabbing for the ice when Ted hands it to him. "Feels like I've had Big Show sitting on my back for an hour," he groans, wrenching himself over onto his stomach so that he can rest with the ice on his lower back. "Next time we'll be ready for them. We're getting those titles."

"Long as you don't break yourself first," mumbles Ted, shaking his head and frowning. "We should've seen this coming. They weren't going to take RAW lying down."

"Should've, but we didn't. Next time we will." Randy watches the bag of ice, slowly melting against Cody's back, his brow furrowed. "They won't get away with this."

"Uh, I don't think anyone's saying they got away with it. You might’ve given Jericho a concussion, he's gonna be out for a week or two." Ted snorts. "Taught him, I guess. Gives us time to come up with a plan."

"Deserved it," Randy says darkly, giving another glance to Cody. This one's on him, for not realizing how far Edge was willing to take this thing. Now he knows. Now he'll be ready. If Edge wants to do this like that, then Randy'll play ball. Maybe Edge doesn't have a wife that Randy can RKO, and he doesn't have a Cody, or a Ted, really – he and Jericho barely function as a team – but Randy'll get to him somehow.

The ice is dripping, in rivulets down Cody's sides. He looks miserable, actually, not smiling at all, and it makes Randy want to hit Jericho with another chair.

"You gonna be alright back here?" he asks, frowning. He doesn't know that he's stopped frowning since he saw Edge and Jericho in the ring on the monitor. "I've got a match last on the card."

Cody waves him off. "Dude, go. I'll be fine, not a big deal. I've had worse."

"I'll stay with him," Ted volunteers. He looks guilty, even though that's ridiculous. Nobody could've expected him to just shake off a chair shot to the head.

Randy's all ready to agree that'd be best, but apparently Cody disagrees.

"No, man, come on, I'm alright. What if they go after Randy, huh? I don't think they're actually too concerned with me other than as a way to get to you," he admits. "They definitely don't think we're real competition."

"I can handle myself. You can't even walk." Randy raises his eyebrows at Cody. "I really don't think you should be hanging around without backup."

"Well, I don't think you should be going out to the ring for your match without backup." Cody doesn't back down. "Especially when you've got practically everyone here tonight gunning for you."

"They're always gunning for me; everyone hates me," counters Randy. It's just a fact of life. "Nothing new. I can take care of myself, I'm used to it."

"Well, that's stupid." Still, Cody's not letting go of this. "Let Ted go out there with you, I'll lock the door or whatever, I'll be fine."

Randy's really not used to this. Usually he tells someone what to do and they either do it, or they punch him. This is really weird and he doesn't like it.

"Ted's staying back here with you," he restates, in case that's the part Cody's not understanding, "while I have my match. I can handle myself. It's a wrestling match. I happen to be a professional wrestler."

"And I happen to be a grown man." Cody _rolls his damn eyes_. "I've got ice. I've got a bench." He pats the hard wood of the bench he's resting on. "That's all I need. I don't need a bodyguard."

Randy narrows his eyes at Cody. "Ted, stay here," he says shortly, gathering his belt onto his shoulder. "I'll be back after my match."

He can feel Cody glaring at his back as he leaves, can hear him hiss, "Teddy!" but Ted doesn't follow him, because Ted follows orders and isn't a whiny shit. He has no doubt that Cody's going to give him the cold shoulder for a while, but it's happened before and he always gives up and talks to Randy again eventually.

Michael Cole’s blathering about Randy being without his sidekicks and whether or not it's because of the situation that happened earlier. To remind the crowd about it, they show the beatdown on the 'tron, and it gets Randy's blood pumping again with anger to see the way Edge didn't let up on Cody at all.

Jerry Lawler comments on how pissed off he looks when they cut back to him, and Randy knows that there's no way the camera's catching how furious he is. Randy burns cold, and the hatred feels like ice in his head, like before the anger can reach his brain it freezes.

He doesn't even give Swagger a minute in the ring before he's on him with his fists. He doesn't care about Jack Swagger, as anything other than a vehicle for Randy's rage. This is how he works, how he deals with things, by beating peoples' faces in until he feels better.

Randy knows what people think. Hell, Edge had said it just last week, people think Ted and Cody are his lackeys, his minions. He doesn't correct that opinion, because it's good to be underestimated. It's good that people don't see just how far he's willing to go to protect what little he has.

He has the championship, yeah, and that's what he wants most in the world, but he's not going to pretend that Cody and Ted aren't – not friends, they're not his friends – _important_ , to him. Maybe people don't realize that. Maybe they think Randy's just using them. Hell, he _knows_ that's what people think, and that's why he can hear Cole and Lawler sounding surprised that he's being so vicious.

Of course he's vicious. He's always vicious, and he doesn't give a shit about Jack Swagger. He doesn't want to be out here, because he knows Cody, and Cody's a manipulative little shit. It'll probably be halfway through the match and Ted'll be out there, whether to get away from Cody's bitching or because Ted has trouble saying no to Cody on a good day.

He vaguely hears the ref telling him to let up on Swagger, but he doesn't want to. He wants to hurt something, someone, and if it can't be Edge or Jericho, and it can't be Triple H or Batista or Cena, it might as well be this asshole he doesn't care about.

The bell rings. Randy guesses he probably just got disqualified, but the match wasn't for the title and even if it was, he has the champion's advantage. The ref's hand's on his back trying to get him to let up but fuck that, Randy's angry, he'll punch a ref and take the fine if he has to.

He's not leaving this ring until he feels less like he's leaking all over the place, leaking anger and energy like the ice on Cody's back was leaking. It's Randy's fault that Cody even needs ice at all. Randy's no stranger to leaving someone to the wolves, he's left tag team partners behind to get destroyed and he'd do it again to save himself.

This is different. This is Cody catching the flack for someone else's beef with Randy because Edge knows, Edge somehow _knows_ that Randy cares about what happens to Cody and Ted.

Referees are trying to get him off of Swagger, but Randy's pretty sure most of them are too scared to actually touch him. It's not until he hears a voice he actually recognizes that Randy pauses, flipping Swagger onto his front and digging a knee into the small of his back just in case he decides he's not done punching him. _Like leftovers_ , thinks Randy, a sort of weird buzzing in his ears, _you keep leftovers in your fridge until you're hungry again_.

"Randy." It's Ted, because of course it's Ted, and Ted is out here and not with Cody. He's not shouting, like the referees, who backed off when Randy stopped hitting Swagger. He sounds pretty calm, a hand on Randy's shoulder, his voice lowered so they're the only ones who can hear. And maybe Swagger, if Randy didn't just give him a concussion.

"You were supposed to stay in the back," Randy grinds out. His fingers are itching, like he still wants to punch something, because he does, and if Ted was smart, he'd back the fuck off. Ted's an idiot, though, clearly, because he does nothing of the sort. 

"Well, I'm pretty sure _you_ were supposed to have a wrestling match." Ted's mouth twitches up at the side. "Come on, the longer we're out here the longer Cody's alone."

Ted apparently knows which buttons of Randy's to push, which is unfair, because Randy didn't tell Ted to know him that well. Randy didn't tell Ted to be a person that Randy listens to. Randy didn't tell Ted to know what Randy cares about. Randy didn't tell Ted any of those things, because Randy doesn't have friends, and he doesn't need them, he's better off without people who know him that well.

It seems Ted doesn't care what Randy's told him to do, because he's out here, and Randy told him not to be. Life's so much easier when people just listen to the things he tells them to do.

Carefully, he gets off of Jack Swagger, who's still groaning in pain, and he shrugs Ted's hand off his shoulder. "I don't remember giving you permission to give a shit," he mutters. He feels a prickly warmth coming over the back of his neck, and for the first time in a very long time, he feels slightly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Ted shrugs, keeping an eye out as he follows Randy to the back. "I know you're all, you know, _you_ , so you might not know this, but that's kind of what friends do." There's a challenge in his voice, one Randy feels certain Cody must've put there, but he's too tired to manage a proper defense against it. 

He sighs. "I don't do friends," he states shortly. Ted laughs. Ted is an asshole.

"Yeah? Well, now you do," says Ted. He nudges Randy into the locker room ahead of him and says something else, something about getting ice for Randy's knuckles which, now that he mentions, are throbbing something fierce. Randy looks down at them. Oh, and bleeding. Nice.

Cody's glaring at him, and Randy is beyond not in the mood, but all Cody says is, pissily, "Let me look at your hand."

Randy sits on a chair next to the bench and offers his hand without arguing. It's not worth the effort. Randy's so tired.

He hisses when Cody prods at his split knuckles, and Cody mutters an apology.

"That was stupid," he says, his voice blunt. He's checking Randy's fingers for broken bones, but he doesn't look away from Randy's face. "That wasn't a wrestling match, that was a mess."

"I was angry." Randy flexes his fingers a little in Cody's grip. "Shouldn't have gotten in my way when I was angry."

"You shouldn't have gotten into the ring if you were that angry," Cody returns. "That's when shit like this happens." He holds up Randy's hand like Randy can't feel the bruising already.

“I was angry," repeats Randy, quietly, but he knows Cody can still hear him. Cody might still be looking at him, but Randy's not looking back, instead watching the way Cody's fingers look overlaid with his, the contrast between Cody's skin and his own. It's bizarrely fascinating.

"I know you were," Cody murmurs. He doesn't sound – happy about it, exactly, but he sounds like he understands. Randy's not sure how he _could_ understand, but apparently he does.

"Will I live?" Randy asks, finally looking back up at Cody.

"If you don't die from a terminal case of dumbass first," Cody huffs, and Randy is again struck with the knowledge that he can count on one hand the number of people in the world who talk to him like this, and one of them is his dad. Another is down the hall getting ice.

Damn it, they're his friends, aren't they? Randy doesn't want friends but he has friends.

"I'm afraid so," Cody says in response. Randy hadn't realized he was speaking aloud. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Even though you probably just did that, considering the state of Jack Swagger's face right now."

"Got in my way," Randy repeats. He doesn't want to think about it like Cody just said, because what Cody just said sounds bizarre, sounds like he, like he was _defending Cody's honor_ or something, and that's, that's stupid. That's not at all what he was doing, first of all, and second of all, just because he was angry doesn't mean he was angry about Cody getting hurt.

Or, if he _was_ , it doesn't mean he wasn't also angry about other stuff, like how people keep coming after his title, or how his bagel this morning was undertoasted. Randy gets angry about a lot of things, really, it just so happens that maybe Cody getting hurt was at the forefront of his mind.

"Of course he did," Cody says. He's blatantly humoring Randy, but Ted comes back with the ice before Randy can hit him for it.

"Long line?" Randy asks doubtfully. Ted's gone to get ice twice tonight and both times it's taken much longer than a walk down the hall and back should take.

Ted exchanges a look with Cody. "Uh, yeah. Dangerous world we live in," Ted says, and it's clearly a lie. Randy doesn't like when people lie to him, but he – grudgingly – likes Ted, so he'll let this one slide.

"Thanks," he mutters, shoving the ice down across his fingers. It's cold and painful enough that it jars his nerves, jerking the last haze of angry red from in front of his gaze. "We're done for tonight, right? Nobody else has a match? Nobody else planning on getting ambushed?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Cody groans through his teeth as he slowly levers himself up to sit on the bench. "Course, I wasn't planning on it the first time. Time to leave?"

"Time to leave," Randy confirms. He eyes Cody for a moment. "You gonna be able to get back to the hotel by yourself?"

Cody waves a hand dismissively, pressing his knuckles to the bruising skin at the base of his spine. He's changed into jeans since Randy was out in the ring, but he doesn't have a shirt on, probably to get the ice closer to skin. He's bruised all over, actually, and Randy feels another flare of anger.

"I'll be fine. I've had worse, barely even stings now. Don't fuss." Cody's mouth turns up in a smile. "Wonder what the world would think if I told them the Viper, big bad Randy Orton is such a mother hen."

Randy glowers. "I'm not fussing. You got wailed on with steel chairs. I think it's normal to be concerned. You could have a concussion. Did you check for concussion?" he asks Ted, frowning with renewed vigor.

"I checked for concussion," Ted confirms. "He's lucid, obviously, and he followed my finger, the whole nine. He'll just be sore for a few days."

Randy continues to think for a moment, then holds out his hand. "Give me your keys," he tells Cody.

"What? No." Cody wrinkles his nose. "Seriously, I'm fine. I can drive myself back to the hotel."

"I don't care if you can. You're not going to. Give me your keys." Randy flexes his fingers even though it stings through the numbness provided by the ice. "I'm not going down a member of my team because you're too stubborn and die in a car crash. Hand them over."

Cody's still grumbling, but he digs his keys out of his pocket and shoves them into Randy's hand. "I'm fine," he mutters, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. He's visibly holding in a groan of pain as he does it, so Randy doesn't feel bad at all for taking his keys.

"Teddy, you gonna be alright getting back on your own?" Randy checks. They've all got rooms next to each other, and Randy makes sure to get them in the part of the hotel that's most easily defended because he's a paranoid bastard and not ashamed, so it's not like Randy won't be able to check on Ted once he's gotten back, but Cody wasn’t the only one who got hurt out there. You don't just shake off a hit to the head like that.

"Yeah, boss, I'm good." Ted smiles at him. Ted's smile is a lot more elusive than Cody's, at least with Randy, but that's not exactly unwarranted, considering Randy once kicked him in the head so hard he was out for months. He's lucky Ted's still on his side at all. "See you at the taping tomorrow?"

"I'll check in before then, but yeah." Randy shoves Cody's keys into his pocket. He'll leave the car he drove here at the arena, or get the company to come in and get it tomorrow or something. "Have a good night."

Cody is still sulking, which is no surprise. Cody's a champion sulker.

He sulks all the way to the car, and as Randy starts it, it's his turn to roll his eyes.

"Are you not gonna talk to me now?" he asks, backing out of the parking space. "I've had my fair share of concussions, and sometimes the symptoms don't show up right away. You know that."

Cody doesn't completely stop pouting, but his shoulders stop hunching so much. "You don't have to treat me like a kid," he mumbles. "I can take care of myself. That's the whole reason I wanted to join your group, because I knew you wouldn't treat me like I was just another rookie. Except that's what you've been doing tonight. I don't like it."

"Hey, I'm not treating you like a rookie. I know what it feels like when nobody's taking you seriously, okay? I used to work for Triple H." Randy's gratified when that gets a huff of laughter out of Cody. "Swear I'm not trying to talk down to you or anything. I'm just..." he adjusts his hands on the steering wheel. "... worried. You took some hard shots. Let me make sure you're okay."

He can feel Cody looking at him even if he doesn't take his eyes off the road, and he waits for him to speak.

"You're worried about me," Cody says flatly. "You. Are worried about me."

"Shut up, it happens sometimes," Randy grinds out.

"Uh, yeah, it happens _all_ the time, but I've never heard you say it out loud before." Cody sounds amazed and Randy doesn't think that's really called for.

"Shut up," Randy repeats. "We're not talking about this."

"There, that's more like it." Cody seems far too smug for Randy's liking, but he's not pouting anymore, and actually seems rather amused, which Randy approves of more than sulking, so he'll take it.

Cody dutifully changes the subject. "You and Ted've been getting on better than you were."

"Yeah, well." Randy doesn't like thinking about how just a month ago, he and Ted were practically at each other's throats all the time, and he definitely doesn't like thinking about that stupid match Ted's dad had made them participate in against each other. "Guy slaps his dad across the face for you, changes a few things, I guess."

He glances at Cody and then back at the road. "Kind of like when a guy eliminates his brother from the Royal Rumble for you," he says more quietly.

Cody's breath punches out of him in a surprised sort of sigh. "Goldie knew the score," he says, and when Randy glances over at him, he's looking out the window, his face half obscured by shadow and half flickering in the passing street lights. "We both did. Besides, he's kind of used to it, with dad. Family not being there for you."

Randy wants to reach over and touch Cody's arm or something, because he might not know what it's like to do that, to have to fight against your own family, but he'd seen Cody after the Rumble, off in a corner by himself. Randy'd been on a high from the win, from knowing he was going to get his title shot, but he'd still seen the look on Cody's face and the way he couldn't quite stop shaking.

"Still," says Randy, "I know what it meant, for you. And I know it wasn't easy. It's not easy ever, really, being on my team." His eyebrows pull together against his will. "Seems like all it usually gets you is hurt."

"Oh, don't start with that again." Cody's back to being just Cody, his eyes on Randy, and seconds from rolling. "Look, I'm gonna say this once, because I know – you, I know you, even if you don't want to think I do, I do, and I know that this kind of conversation is the sort of thing you run in the other direction from-"

"Cody," Randy warns to no avail.

"-but stop acting like I'm not doing this of my own free will. I chose you, okay, Randy? I picked you, over Sim and Manu, over my brother, over my father if I have to. I chose _you_ , and that's my decision to make. If I get hurt out there it's because of my own choices. Not your fault. My decision. So just shut up and accept that I like you better than everyone else, alright?"

There's only silence in the car for a number of minutes as Randy processes this, and Cody takes deep breaths that are probably making his ribs hurt.

"Alright," Randy says under his breath. "I guess if we have to talk about it. I don't get it. I don't get why you're still here. I don't get any of it. I know how you feel about your family. Why would you pick me over all of that?"

He's not looking at Cody because he can't look at Cody, and not just because he's driving, but because he actually physically _cannot_.

"You really have to ask?" Cody says. He's looking at Randy, he can tell out of the corner of his eye, his head rolled back against the head rest of his seat and his eyes watching Randy for a reaction. "Really?"

They're at the hotel, so Randy takes his time maneuvering into a parking spot, going slowly so that he doesn't hit the cars next to them. He shuts the car off, takes a deep breath, and turns to look at Cody.

"No, I guess I don't," he says softly. He tucks his lips into his mouth, nods, and shoves open his door. "You need help with your bag?"

He can hear Cody making a frustrated noise as Randy steps out of the car, but he thinks that's been quite enough sharing and caring for one day.

"I got it," Cody grumbles. "You need help with your inability to have a meaningful conversation?" he adds under his breath.

"What was that?" Randy asks even though he knows exactly what Cody just said. He wasn't talking _that_ quietly. "Did you say something?"

Cody sighs again. "Nah, nothing, champ. I can get my bag, no problem."

"Good." Randy hefts his own bag onto his shoulder, handing Cody's off to him. "Try to get eight hours, we're gonna have a long day tomorrow. No doubt Swagger's gonna want revenge if he can get it. And I wouldn't put it past Edge and Jericho not to be down for long."

"I'll watch my back." Cody nods in understanding. "Just, one more thing."

Randy cringes, giving Cody a pointed look. "Yeah?" he says, slowly, drawing the word out. He ended that conversation, which means the conversation's over. Cody knows that. "And what's that?"

Cody gives him a long enough look that Randy thinks maybe he doesn't actually have anything else to say. Of course, he's not that lucky.

"Just, take care of yourself, okay? If you're allowed to worry about me, I'm allowed to worry about you, too." Cody gives him a firm look. "Ted and me, we're not just around to be your backup when you've pissed someone off. You can talk to us. If you need to." He shrugs. "That's all."

Randy looks away from him. "Are we done here?"

Cody sighs. Randy thinks of telling him that if he does much more of that his ribs are going to be unforgiving in the morning, but he doesn't. "Yeah, yeah, we're done. You can go watch football or grow a beard or do whatever it is you do to assert your masculinity to yourself.”

"Mostly I kick people in the head." Randy grins, toothy and sharp. "Usually works real well."

Cody makes a face at him, which Randy doesn't dignify with a response.

"You gonna check on Teddy?" he asks instead. He usually checks to make sure they both get back from the arena alright, and that nobody waylaid them on their way to their hotel rooms. It might seem overly cautious, but when Hunter had attacked Randy at his house, it had dumped a whole new bucket of paranoia over Randy's head.

"Yeah, sure. Sleep well, boss." Cody gives Randy's shoulder a bump and then trundles off toward the elevator. Randy prefers to use the stairs, not just for the exercise, but because nobody else uses the stairs and he likes having the time alone to think.

Which is what he needs right now, time to think. It’s not like he hadn’t been aware before of this whole whatever-it-is between him and Cody – or at least, he’s not actively avoiding awareness of it anymore, but there’s a difference between being peripherally aware of something and that thing being brought up to you like it just was.

There’s a difference because Randy’d never expected them to talk about it, really. It had always just been this unspoken _thing_. Except it’s not unspoken anymore. And Randy’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Are things supposed to change now? Because Randy doesn’t want that. He likes things the way they are.

He likes things the way they are _now_ , where he and Ted aren’t at each other’s throats anymore, and he and Cody understand each other and don’t understand each other in the slightest, all at once. He’s the WWE champion and (he has no doubts) Ted and Cody are about to win the tag team titles, and even if there are problems sometimes, they resolve them.

He doesn’t really like that people keep attacking them to get to him, but he can deal with that. Can he deal with it if he and Cody act on this _whatever_ that they haven’t acted on? And does he really deserve to have whatever it is if he can’t even say it _in his head_? Randy snorts. Probably not.

The steps are slow going, or maybe Randy’s just going slowly, because he’s only halfway to their floor. That’s good, though, because he’s not at all done thinking.

If – and that’s a big if – he and Cody decide to do anything about it, it’s not like anybody could know. Teddy, obviously, they wouldn’t be able to hide something like that from him, but not anybody else. He still has no idea how Edge had guessed that his soft spot for Cody is more like a soft stain, that it’s attached deep in his stomach and pulls hard every so often until all that Randy is feels like it’s spilling out of him and there’s no way to mop it up. 

Randy’s not actually as crazy as everyone assumes he is, and even if he feels like that around Cody he knows that it’s not really _visible_ , so there’s no way Edge could’ve looked at him and seen Randy’s insides on his outsides. It doesn’t really matter, though, because Edge is everything he’d told Randy – he knows his weak spots, and Cody is one of his weak spots.

Cody is his weakest spot. Clearly. Obviously. Randy’s surprised that more people haven’t tried going after him to get to Randy. Usually they just attack if he sends Cody and Ted after them first. Nobody’s really tried anything before Edge. Either they aren’t as intelligent as Edge is or they’re just too fucking _nice_ to do something like that.

Hunter’s not nice. Randy remembers Hunter punching through his front door with a sledgehammer, scaring his girlfriend at the time half to death, and he stops where he is on the steps.

Maybe people have short memories but Randy didn’t go after Stephanie in any real capacity until Hunter went after Cody. Hunter locked Cody in a steel cage and made Randy watch while he decimated him, and then had the gall to be surprised when Randy returned the favor. Hunter’s the one who started it, even if he was unaware, when he did that to Cody. Randy knew then that he wasn’t going to rest until Hunter lost _everything_.

Hunter isn’t a good person; Randy knows that even if all the people that cheer for him out there have forgotten. Hunter wouldn’t have any hesitation about going after Cody again. No hesitation at all, he’s proved that. And Cody didn’t go down easily, but Hunter’s stronger and if he has that fucking sledgehammer with him then Cody doesn’t stand a chance.

And, truth be told, Randy wouldn’t really blame him for it, if he went after Cody again. Randy went after Stephanie, and he’d do it again to get under Hunter’s skin. He’d happily rip Hunter limb from limb for putting his dirty hands on Cody at all, but he wouldn’t blame him.

Randy forces himself to keep going up the stairs. His heart’s beating too fast. Nothing’s even happened yet and he’s already terrified at the thought that something _could_ , something could happen to Cody because Randy has a lot of enemies and if they do this, Cody becomes the perfect way to get to Randy, he becomes nothing more than a target to Randy’s opponents.

People like Cena, they probably wouldn’t do anything about it, because Randy has to grudgingly admit that John Cena is mostly a decent person who wouldn’t attack someone before they attacked him and his. But Hunter? Dave, whenever he gets back from injury? Randy knows them, he knows the way they think because it’s where Randy learned. Every dirty trick, every mind game, every awful thing he’s ever done, he learned how to do it from Hunter, from Ric, from Dave.

Even if everyone else has forgotten, Randy never will.

Tonight, Cody getting hurt, that’s on him. And if Cody gets hurt again? Someone like Hunter could end Cody’s career and not even think twice about it. He’s got the power, both physically and backstage. If that happens, it’ll be all on Randy for putting him in the line of fire like that. 

Fuck choice, and decisions, and whatever else Cody’d said, because Randy doesn’t care about much. He doesn’t care about family, not the way Cody and Ted do; he and his dad haven’t spoken in three months, not because they had a fight or anything, just because there’s no reason to. He’s here, Dad’s at home in St. Louis, and that’s where they stand. They’re just not the closest family.

Randy doesn’t care about much, but he cares about Ted, and he cares – more than cares, because he’s being honest right now, in his head even if he can’t be honest anywhere else – about Cody. And Randy’s not used to caring about things, less used to caring about people, but they’re something he cares about, and he will protect them if it’s the last thing he does because caring about people is something he never thought he’d be able to do again.

So, that settles it. Randy cannot do this. They can’t do this. He and Cody will just have to continue on the way they have been, because that’s the only way to make sure Cody stays relatively safe, and Randy would rather Cody stay safe than… anything else. 

He should maybe tell this to Cody, but Cody probably knows, right? Randy is not going to have this conversation with Cody. He’s already breaking out into hives over the soul-searching they did earlier, and if he has to say out loud that he cares about Cody to his _face_ he’s not sure he’ll survive the experience.

It’s a good thing it’s already late, because that means Randy can conceivably avoid the conversation by pleading tiredness. Even if he hardly ever sleeps. Cody doesn’t know that. Or maybe he does, since apparently Randy lately is an open book.

He reaches the top of the stairs and it feels final, somehow, like now that he’s here he can shut down again like he normally does, his brief venture into emotion between him and the stairwell. He’s made his decision, and Cody likes when people make their own decisions, right? Right.

With that thought firmly in his head, he makes his way down the hall. Their little group of rooms is next to the fire escape and in the far corner of the building, and it’s late, but even so, Randy keeps an eye out for anybody who might want to get the jump on him. Thankfully, there’s nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and, faintly, voices at the end of the hallway.

Cody’s leaning against Ted’s doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest, chatting to Ted who looks more like he’s humoring Cody than anything else. He’s nodding every so often but it seems like every time his chin deeps farther toward his chest. Much longer and he might just fall asleep standing up.

“Hey,” Randy greets. Ted looks gratefully at him as Cody perks up and stands straight. “Early start tomorrow, we should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Ted agrees, scratching the back of his head. “Wake up call at six?”

“Sounds good.” Randy can tell from the looks on their faces that it actually doesn’t sound good at all, because who the hell wants to wake up at six? But they have early flights, all of them, and it’s better to get the sleep now than to try and get it on the plane. “See you in the morning, Teddy.”

Cody says his goodnights as Ted closes his door. Randy thinks he can hear a vague thump, like Ted’s just decided to nod off right there against the door.

“Guess I should probably get to bed myself,” says Cody, wandering along with Randy until he gets to his door. By some unspoken agreement, they’re both putting off separating for the time being. Maybe Cody’s waiting for something, but he’s got to know by now that he’s not getting what he wants. He knows Randy well enough to know that.

“Yeah, you probably should.” Randy swipes his key card through the lock to open his door, and lingers in the doorway. Maybe he’s waiting for something, too. “How’s your head?” he asks, for lack of anything else to say. Their voices have gone quieter now that it’s just the two of them.

“Alright.” Cody rubs his hand over the bristles of his hair. “I’ve got a hard head, as you well know,” he adds, wryly.

“Yeah, well, put some ice on it if it starts bothering you. I’ve got Tylenol if you need it.” Randy’s thinking of taking some for himself, actually. His knuckles are starting to hurt again, and that reminds him of Swagger, which reminds him of why he’d been so angry, which is giving him a headache. “You should probably get more ice for your back, too.”

Cody’s looking up at him, half-glaring. “We talked about this,” he mutters. “You’re treating me like a rookie again.”

“I’m not treating you like a rookie.” Randy grits his teeth, because they _have_ talked about this, enough that Cody should know better by now. “I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah? You can do that without being all,” here, Cody pauses, apparently trying to find the words, “smothery and overbearing and, you know? You don’t treat Ted like that. I’ve been here longer than Ted!”

“It’s not about that!” Randy makes a concentrated effort to lower his voice again. “It has nothing to do with me thinking you’re incapable, alright?”

“Then what is it, Randy?” Cody’s starting to look for-real pissed, now. “Because I swear, sometimes you treat me less like your teammate and more like your, your, I don’t know-“

Girlfriend. 

It’s just hit him, all at once: checking on him all the time, making sure he’s alright, the possessiveness, how he gets so angry when Cody’s hurt; he’s been acting with Cody like he acts around the girls he’s dated.

“You’re not my girlfriend,” Randy blurts, which is so beyond not what he wanted to say, and rightfully earns him a weird look from Cody.

“Uh, no, I’m not, and that’s not… what I was going to say, are you alright?” he asks. He actually sounds worried now, rather than pissed. Maybe because the color’s drained out of Randy’s face.

Randy’s not alright at all, because, because what the hell? He’s been treating Cody like a girlfriend, but Cody’s not his girlfriend, Cody’s just. Cody. Cody is Cody and Randy is Randy and nobody is anybody’s girlfriend.

Randy leans heavily against the wall next to his door. This changes nothing, but somehow it also changes everything.

“Hey.” Cody shakes Randy’s shoulder. “Hey, champ, you don’t look so good. Look, I wasn’t saying anything like that, I just mean that I can take care of myself. Okay?”

“Yeah, you can, can’t you?” Randy asks curiously. There’s blood rushing in his ears. “You can take care of yourself.”

Cody looks like he doesn’t think they’re having the same conversation anymore, which is appropriate, because they’re not. “I can take care of myself,” Cody repeats carefully.

“Cody,” Randy says, looking at him and hoping that he’s getting his point across even though he’s pretty sure he’s not making any sense and Cody thinks he’s more unbalanced than he normally is. “Cody, _you can take care of yourself_.”

Cody’s eyebrows slowly raise. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He tilts his head, his eyes scanning Randy’s expression. “Is that-? I mean, are we? Is this… What are we talking about?” he finally asks, and he looks cautiously hopeful, which matches how Randy feels. “Randy, what are we talking about right now?”

“In,” is all Randy can say. This is not a conversation they should be having in the hallway. Hell, this is probably not a conversation they should be having anywhere, but Cody can take care of himself and Randy’s having an epiphany and fuck it, they’re having this conversation. He opens his door wider and Cody slips past him without question.

“What you said, in the car.” Randy’s breathing sort of heavily, but he can’t seem to make his lungs obey what he wants. “You said that you can make your own choices, your own decisions. About everything, right?”

“Yes,” says Cody, without even hesitating. “Randy, what-?”

“You said that you chose me,” Randy says over him, because if he doesn’t get this out now he doesn’t know that he’ll ever get it out. “What did you mean, when you said that?”

“What does it sound like I meant? I chose you, and we both know why.” Cody hasn’t looked away from Randy since the door closed. “Randy, _tell me what you’re thinking_.”

Randy’s never been good with words, so he kisses Cody instead.

It’s not the best kiss Randy’s ever had, but it’s also the very best kiss Randy’s ever had. To his credit, Cody gets with the program very quickly, one of his hands clutching at the shoulder of Randy’s t-shirt, clenching and unclenching, the other hand going behind Randy’s head, on the back of his neck to pull him closer. Not that Randy needs to be pulled, because he’s getting as close to Cody as he can feasibly get, crowding him against the door, his arms around Cody’s waist to press against him.

“You can take care of yourself,” he murmurs, his lips damp, brushing against Cody’s. He takes the opportunity to steal another kiss while he’s there.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” asks Cody before he leans into Randy again to continue the kiss.

That’s hilarious to Randy, who doesn’t think he’s had an actual friendly conversation with anyone other than Ted or Cody in more than a month. Here, with Cody pressed against him, real and there and capable, alive and he wants Randy just as much as Randy wants him, he feels like he’s never had a more real conversation and they’re having it with nothing more than their bodies.

Randy huffs out a laugh that Cody swallows up, his hands cupping Randy’s face as he leans up to take kisses like he’s breathing them in. Randy likes that Cody has to lean up to kiss him. He likes that Cody’s got delicate bones, and his waist is swallowed by Randy’s hands, and he’s holding Cody against the door but Cody’s not fighting him on it and yet, if Cody did, he could probably make Randy let him go.

Cody’s not there because he’s weak, or because Randy’s making him stay put. He’s not here with Randy because he has nowhere else to go. He’s here because he made a decision, he made his choice, and his choice was Randy. Cody can take care of himself. If he needs to, Cody can take care of himself.

This whole time, Randy’s been wondering why people underestimate Cody, and thinking they’re idiots for it, because he’s obviously not helpless, but Randy’s been underestimating him _himself_ , which probably just means Randy’s an idiot as well. He should’ve had this realization _months_ ago, when he first realized that Cody wasn’t just bullshitting about it, he just _really isn’t scared of Randy_.

He really should’ve realized then that if Cody isn’t afraid of Randy, he’s probably not afraid of anybody else, either.

Randy slides his fingertips down Cody’s spine, gently, until he can press them to the small of his back, where the brunt of the impact of the Walls of Jericho hits a person. He doesn’t push his fingers there, just touches, curling his knuckles up until they sting and stroking them up under Cody’s t-shirt to touch where his skin is damp from a combination of sweat and the remaining condensation from the ice.

“Okay,” Randy whispers, keeping his hand there as Cody strokes his thumbs up under Randy’s jaw. “Okay. If this is your choice. Okay.”

“Okay?” Cody asks. He’s smiling, well-kissed and his mouth showing the effects of it. “You’re serious?”

Randy laughs, because he can’t help it. “Oh, because I’m such a kidder?” he asks, drawing Cody into another kiss, and then another, and another.

By the time Cody gets the use of his mouth back, he looks rather dazed, which Randy’s proud of. “Uh,” he says intelligently. “So you are serious, then?”

“Yeah.” Randy flattens his palm against Cody’s back. “Yeah, I’m serious. If this is what you want. Even though I think you’re a little crazy for wanting it.”

“I learned from the best,” Cody remarks, one of his hands still loosely fisted in Randy’s shirt. “You’d know all about being a little crazy, wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Randy replies, because this is not at all what he’d prefer to be doing right now.

They kiss until Randy’s pretty sure Cody has beard-burn on his face, and Randy’s lips feel swollen, and Cody’s _look_ swollen, which is something Randy needs to stop paying attention to if he’s going to not be kissing Cody anymore.

“We really do have an early morning,” Randy mutters, thumbing Cody’s bottom lip, which is also something that’s not making him want to continue kissing any less. “We should sleep.”

“Right, ‘cause that’s gonna happen,” Cody laughs, rubbing at the skin around his mouth. “’Cause I’m really gonna be able to think about anything other than this.” He bites playfully at Randy’s thumb. “Can I ask – what made you change your mind? I practically had to tape you into your seat in the car to get you to talk about this vaguely for more than a minute and a half.”

Randy shrugs a shoulder. Nothing’s changed, really. He’s still not big on _talking_ about this, whatever it is. “You can take care of yourself,” he says finally. “I guess I just never really thought about how you can take care of yourself in more ways than just in the ring.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it?”

“I’ve got a lot of enemies,” Randy says defensively. “You saw that tonight. A lot of the people I piss off are pretty ruthless, and I didn’t want you, you know. _You know_ , don’t fuck with me,” he says when Cody puts on a look of naïve curiosity that is at least ninety-nine percent fake.

“They would come after me anyway,” Cody points out. “And it’s not like I’m planning on going around wearing a shirt that says ‘I Heart Randy Orton’. Far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t really change anything.” He shrugs. “Least not in public.”

“Does that mean you’ll wear an ‘I Heart Randy Orton’ shirt in private?” asks Randy, trying for the curious look Cody’d had on and definitely not succeeding.

“Is that what you’re into?” Cody counters.

Randy pauses. “Shut up,” he decides, nodding firmly and reaching past Cody’s hip to turn the handle to open the door.

Cody laughs, behind him. It’s a good sound.

“Night, champ,” he says in a lilting voice. Randy steels himself with determination and closes the door behind him.

Ted takes one look at them the next morning and coughs, the tips of his ears turning red. He clears his throat, then rubs the back of his neck and opens his mouth to speak.

“Shut up, Teddy,” says Cody. He cheerfully pats Ted’s shoulder, making his way past them down the hall and leaving Randy to shrug at Ted.

“That obvious?” he asks. He’s not bothered that Ted can apparently tell that something’s changed between him and Cody. He’d find out eventually anyway, considering the three of them go everywhere together.

Cody’s nearly to the elevator, so Randy jerks his head to motion Ted along in a slow meander down the hallway.

“Probably not to anyone else.” He coughs again. “You look happy, which doesn’t happen a lot.”

Randy considers that, looking ahead of him where Cody is waiting impatiently for them to catch up.

“I’m not unhappy,” he decides. That’s the best he’s been in a while, so he’ll take it. “Is that the same thing?”

“For you, probably.”

“Then yeah,” Randy says. They’ve reached Cody now, so Randy doesn’t say anything more, just pressing the button for the ground floor. Teddy and Cody’ll be on the same flight down to Tampa, while Randy heads back to glorious Missouri. 

It’s only when they’re pulling up outside the airport that he realizes that’s not really how he wants things to go down. He waits until Teddy’s gotten out of the car, getting luggage out of the back, and then he grasps Cody’s wrist.

“Come back to Missouri with me,” he says. It’s not really a demand, but it’s not quite a request, either. It’s a suggestion, one that Cody can answer however he wants.

Cody looks a little startled, the remnants of a smile on his face. “What?” he asks. 

“You heard me,” Randy says. “Come back to Missouri with me, instead of going back to Tampa. Just, come home with me.”

He’s not used to putting himself out there like this. It’s stupid, really, how much power Cody has over him. How much Cody affects his decisions when he’s done his best to only affect his own for the last however many years.

“Okay,” Cody says. He’s blinking wildly like he’s not even sure why he’s said it, but he did say it.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Cody’s smiling again, and shaking his head a little. “I need to get my flight stuff changed, cancel some things.”

Maybe Randy wasn’t expecting him to actually say yes, but he’s blindsided. He’s still just staring at Cody when Ted pops around Cody’s side of the car to ask what’s taking them so long.

“Oh, change of plans,” Cody says as he undoes his seatbelt easy as anything, sliding out of the car. “I’m going ba—“ and then his voice is cut off when he closes his door behind him.

Ted looks at him sideways for a while as they get into the airport, and when Cody leaves to change his flight, he’s biting his lip so hard it obviously hurts.

“Get it out, Teddy,” Randy says. Ted jumps, and it’s a sign of how tense he’s been holding himself. “Whatever you wanna say, just say it. Do you have a problem?”

“Nah,” Ted says after a moment. “No problem, just…” He sighs. “Do you actually have any idea what you’re doing?”

Randy forces himself not to go on the defensive. Ted’s the way Ted is, and Randy’s trying to be a better person, or whatever, so he swallows the ball of irritation in his throat and actually thinks about it.

“No,” he says, once he’s considered what Ted’s saying. “No, not really.”

“That’s kind of what I thought.” Ted shrugs, less obviously uncomfortable now that Randy hasn’t started throwing punches. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you your business, and whatever’s going on between you and Cody is, uh, none of mine, but he’s kind of my best friend, you know?”

“I probably could’ve guessed,” Randy mutters.

“And I like you, too, even though I’m pretty sure sometimes you’re not all that fond of me.” Ted shrugs again. “I’m just worried, I guess. You can both do what you want, I just don’t want anybody coming out of this hurt.”

“Neither do I, no matter what you might think,” says Randy. He wants to comment on the other thing, on Ted thinking that Randy doesn’t _like_ him, but he can’t figure out a way to do it without it being incredibly awkward. Ted clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and Randy hardly ever wants to talk about anything, so he lets it lie. 

“You just said you don’t know what you’re doing,” Ted points out.

“I’ll figure it out as I go. Been doing that all my life, and it’s worked out alright.” Randy tries not to bite it out, but he can see in Ted’s face when he decides that this conversation is over.

His mouth twists and he looks down to where his fingers are fumbling with the handle of his suitcase. “Just try not to get anyone hurt, okay?” he mumbles.

Randy can see Cody now, on his way back to them, and he catches Ted’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”

That’s all he can do, all he can promise. He has a history of being not so good at this sort of thing and he can’t say he’ll be the best thing to ever happen to Cody, but he’s hoping he won’t be the worst. If you have low expectations, you’ll always exceed them.

He hopes he exceeds Cody’s. He doesn’t know how anyone expects more than the very least from him, and even still, Cody always seems to think he’s capable of more. Cody makes him feel more powerful and more disappointing than anybody else.

“We all good?” Cody asks when he reaches them. He’s frowning a little, looking between them suspiciously, too perceptive for his own good.

“Yeah,” says Ted, surprising Randy. “Yeah, all good. You get your flight changed alright?”

“Yep.” Cody holds up his new boarding pass. “Ready when you are,” he says to Randy.

“I’ve got to get to my terminal,” Ted says, gesturing with his own boarding pass. He gets a tight hug from Cody, who says something into his ear that Randy’s not privy to, and he gives Randy a friendly enough nod before he wheels his suitcase down to the double doors leading to the next terminal. His is a lot farther down the concourse.

“Were you two fighting?” Cody asks with clear asperity as they get into the line to check their bags. “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?”

“We weren’t fighting,” Randy insists. “I think he was, uh, defending your honor, kind of.”

“Oh, great,” Cody replies, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be sure to hit him next time I see him.”

They’re obviously not seated together on the plane, so it’s a long flight to St. Louis, where they can get a car to Randy’s home. He only has the opportunity to realize what he’s done while he’s on the plane, and he spends most of the flight staring at the seat in front of him, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he wonders what in the hell made him think this would be a good idea.

Cody takes one look at him when they’ve both gotten off the plane and says, “You okay?”

Randy stares at him for a second, then swallows and nods. Better when he’s looking at Cody, because he feels that fucking weird sensation in his chest, a lightness he’s not used to. 

“You look like you’re gonna throw up.” Cody’s mouth twitches into a smile that’s not at all actually happy. “Regretting this?”

“No.” That much Randy’s sure of now that he’s got both feet on the ground, and Cody’s coming home with him, and he can figure out the rest later. “I want you here.”

Cody’s expression clears, and he smiles, looking down at his carry-on. “Yeah,” he says. “I want me here, too.”

He whistles at Randy’s house when they pull up to it, and Randy gives him a slap over the back of his head, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up,” he says while they get their luggage out of the trunk. “I’m serious.”

“Is this what I can look forward to when I’m in the main event?” Cody teases. “If this is what kicking the boss’s head in gets you then I can’t wait.”

“There are perks.” Randy can’t keep the smile off his face. Cody’s wearing a stupid hoodie with some superhero’s symbol on the back of it and he’s all cheekbones and smiles and he looks like some college kid who should be grabbing a coffee in some douchebag shop, talking about his geography exam. Randy doesn’t know if he’s ever been attracted more to somebody.

“Come on in,” he says, because Cody’s looking at him expectantly, and Randy can’t just stare at the kid all day. He’s trying _not_ to weird him out.

When they’re inside, Cody sits down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table with a thunk, letting out a heavy sigh. “I hate long, early flights,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead. He sighs, then smiles at Randy. “Glad I’m here,” he says quietly. He keeps his eyes on Randy as he drops down into the seat next to Cody’s, both of their suitcases leaned haphazardly against the table.

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” says Randy. He hesitates, and then puts his hand over the one Cody is resting on the table. Cody smiles at that, looking down at their hands, and then away.

“Uh, where should I put my stuff?” he asks. He twists his hand to squeeze Randy’s, and Randy doesn’t even have the urge to immediately rip his hand away.

“Well,” he says, and now he’s looking down at their hands, too. “There are a couple guest rooms, I guess. That’s an option.”

“Mhmm.” Cody is looking at Randy’s face, now, but Randy’s still looking at the play of muscle on Cody’s forearms, the way their fingers are twining together. “Is there another option?”

Randy smiles to himself, and shrugs as casually as he can, finally looking up at Cody. He’s smiling, too. Randy doesn’t think he’s smiled as much as he’s smiled the past two days in about five years. 

“Yeah,” he says decisively. “Yeah, you could stay in the master with me.”

“That’s the master bedroom, right?” Cody asks, and he’s clearly trying to fight his grin down. “You’re not into, like, kinky master-slave stuff, right?”

Randy waits just long enough for Cody’s eyebrows to raise a little, and then he laughs. He’s not used to laughing because of genuine amusement, and it shows in the creaky hinges of it, but Cody’s eyes light up. “No,” Randy says, and on a whim he brings Cody’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

Cody actually blushes, or has a sudden sunburn, and he coughs and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, pushing himself up off the chair. “I like the second option.”

“Yeah?” Randy asks, releasing Cody’s hand. Is this what being happy feels like? He swears he was once, before he ever met Hunter, but it gets so much harder to remember as he gets older. He thinks it felt something like this, like nobody can knock you down.

It’s nice. Maybe he should try being happy more often.

He leads Cody up to the master bedroom, which is plain, sparsely decorated. Randy isn’t home often enough to spend a lot of time on the place apart from the basics to keep it clean and ready to live in, but he’s still a little self-conscious as Cody looks around.

“It’s very you,” he says.

“Boring?” Randy guesses wryly. Glancing around, all he sees are blank, off-white walls, and dark blue carpeting, and the bed is good. He likes his bed.

“No,” Cody says. He gives Randy a look. “Efficient, I guess. Low-maintenance.”

“Guarantee you low-maintenance isn’t something people call me a lot.” Randy snorts.

“They don’t know you as well as I do,” Cody says. He turns away to set his suitcase in the corner, which is good, because Randy’s pretty sure he gets a stupid look on his face whenever Cody says shit like that.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. “You hungry?”

“Tired, mostly,” Cody admits, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But I could eat, sure.”

They end up ordering in, because as always, Randy’s failed to have any actual food in the house, aside from half a jug of milk that’s seen better days and a bag of frozen corn.

Over Chinese, Cody chatters away about anything and everything. Randy notices only because he’s looking for it that Cody is favoring his back, still. The long flight can’t have done it any good, and every so often, he’ll shift in his seat and wrinkle his nose.

“I’ve got ice packs, you know,” Randy says when it happens for the fourth time, while he’s gathering the boxes and shoving the leftovers into the refrigerator. “If you wanna put something on that.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Cody waves off. He doesn’t bother denying knowledge of what Randy’s talking about. “Just twinges every so often. I’ll be good once I get a good night’s sleep.”

“You didn’t get one last night?” Randy asks. He checks the time. It’s late enough that they could probably call that an early dinner, but not late enough to go to bed without seriously messing up Cody’s sleep schedule, and they’ll have to get on another plane in a few days to go do live events.

He notices Cody hasn’t answered, and turns to look at him, frowning.

“Not really,” Cody says. He sounds hesitant, and Randy sits down again. “I, you know, lot on my mind, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah,” says Randy slowly. He’s still frowning. Cody sounds a lot more serious in response to a question he hadn’t actually meant to be serious, for once. “Bad things?” he guesses.

“No,” Cody says, firm, which is something at least. “No, course not. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re here,” Randy agrees. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. “What kind of things, then?”

Cody’s shoulders lift in an approximation of a shrug. “I’m just… Okay, just so we’re on the same page, would I be wrong in assuming this isn’t something you do very often?”

Randy can feel his brow furrow. “Ask people back to my house? Not really.”

That’s the look Cody gets when he’s trying not to roll his eyes. Randy knows it well. “Guys, Randy. Would I be wrong if I said you don’t do _guys_?”

“Oh, uh.” Randy’s at least a little less confused. “I mean, I’m not – I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I’m not, I wouldn’t really call myself an expert at most things that have to do with, uh, people, and being in relationships with them.”

Shit, should he have called it that? Is that what it is? Is it a relationship? Cody doesn’t look upset about the word, though, just nodding and looking thoughtful.

“I mean, are you?” Randy shoots back, and he’s a little surprised when Cody laughs, genuinely, leaning back in his chair.

“You are definitely the only person who has ever thought that was a necessary question to ask me,” Cody says, his eyes bright. “Yeah, champ, I’ve dated guys before. Pretty exclusively, actually.”

“Oh.” That takes some of the wind out of Randy’s sails, and he clears his throat. “Well, then, uh. I guess that makes me the rookie, doesn’t it?”

Cody’s whole fucking face lights up, and Randy is boggled by it, just so amazed that someone like Cody isn’t just here, with him, but _here with him_. Cody is young and bright and beautiful, a star that Randy hasn’t put out, and Randy has to either kiss him or explode.

“Oh,” Cody says against his mouth, startled, but he eases into it, one hand on Randy’s shoulder. He tastes like pizza and it’s fucking gross and Randy can’t get enough of it.

“Teddy asked me,” Randy starts to say. It’s a struggle, Cody’s mouth still pressed to his, but he pushes a hand to Cody’s chest, because this is important. “Teddy asked me if I knew what I was doing.”

“What’d you say back?” Cody asks. Randy kisses him again before he answers.

“I said I had no idea,” Randy admits.

Cody laughs again at that, and he kisses Randy this time, short and quick like a whispered secret.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” he replies.

It’s inevitable, the way they end up in Randy’s bedroom, and Randy only remembers that he has no idea what he’s doing when they’re smack dab in the middle of it, and they’re naked, and Cody has a dick, and Randy’s always been _aware_ that Cody has a dick, but this is the first time it’s ever happened _to_ him rather than happening _near_ him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Cody says before Randy can really freak out, sitting up, and he’s still naked but he has a hand on either side of Randy’s neck and he’s keeping their eyes locked. “Hey, I can show you. I can show you, okay?”

And Randy nods, and Cody kisses him, and Randy’s not quite distracted enough that he doesn’t notice Cody’s hand sliding around his dick, but it matters less when Cody’s kissing him. Kissing, Randy can do without a problem. He likes kissing. He definitely likes kissing Cody.

“Okay,” says Cody, slipping off of the bed and leaving Randy blinking, frustrated and confused. “I’ll be right back, stud,” he says, and then he’s padding over to his bag, crouching to get something out of it.

He returns and drops his findings on the bed: a condom, and a smallish tube of what Randy can only assume is lube. He coughs, his throat suddenly very dry. This is something they’re actually doing, and it’s all hitting him at once.

“Nope,” Cody says, settling back down on the bed and drawing Randy on top of him, kissing him again for a moment. “Don’t get weird on me, boss. You’re gonna want to pay attention to this part.”

“I’m paying attention,” Randy protests, though it’s a mumble as he’s trying to figure out a way to never have to stop kissing Cody.

Cody laughs, and his hand’s back around Randy’s dick, and Randy’s definitely paying attention now if he wasn’t before. “Fingers first,” Cody says, kissing the corner of Randy’s mouth, a hand around the back of his neck. “You could prob’ly just go real slow and I’d be alright, but I haven’t done this in a while, so, fingers.”

“Right. Okay.” Randy swallows that lump in his throat. He is Randy Orton. He is the Viper. He can do this, it’s just fucking, after all, but – it’s Cody. He’s fucked people before; he’s fucked a lot of people, but this is Cody, and Cody is not people, and Randy cannot fuck this up.

He gets his fingers slippery-slick with lube, and Cody helps him guide them where they need to go. It’s one of the sexiest things Randy’s ever seen, honestly, Cody’s lip caught between his teeth, his face all pink and flushed, his eyebrows pulled together like he’s concentrating. Randy gets so distracted by it all, by Cody’s face and expressions, that he hardly remembers he’s got his fingers inside him until he’s three deep and there’s a light sheen of sweat on Cody’s cheekbones, and Christ, everything is warm. Randy’s so warm he wonders if this is what dying feels like.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Cody’s voice is slurring a little. Randy has a moment of pride, even though Cody had to coach him through this, because it’s his fingers that made Cody sound like that, and it’s his fingers that have Cody so hard, his dick leaving sticky smears of pre-come on his stomach.

“Yeah?” Randy asks, giving his fingers an experimental twist. Cody sighs, heavy and tremulous, and his head tips back against the pillow for a moment.

“Yeah,” Cody murmurs, his eyes opening enough to look at Randy. “Yeah, can you fuck me now?”

Randy has to close his eyes for a second before he can move again, and when he does, he first leans over to kiss Cody, because it’s been too long since he has. The condom goes on after that, and it’s a comfort, something he’s done often enough it’s nothing new, and after a second he adds more lube, because the last thing he wants is to hurt Cody at all, and he doesn’t think there’s such a thing as too much lube when you’re trying to fit a dick into an ass.

He makes a strangled noise that may or may not be a laugh, and Cody looks at him with concern, and that’s just _funnier_ , and Randy needs to get it together before he actually loses it and proves everyone right about him.

“Hey,” Cody says, his hand ghosting along Randy’s ribs. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Randy manages. He forces down the burgeoning hysteria, because this is so completely not the fucking time, and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

Cody’s here with him and spread out on his bed, and he’s still as bright as ever, like a shiny new toy, and Randy is still so worried about loving him too hard, like a kid who loves a favored stuffed animal too hard, and he keeps having to remind himself that Cody is strong, and Cody can handle this.

It eases some of the pressure in his chest, at least, and he fits himself between Cody’s thighs, looking up to check that this is still okay, and then he pushes forward.

Randy’s first thought is that he needs to think about the least sexy thing he possible can or this is going to be the most embarrassing experience of his life. He doesn’t know if it’s always like this (has been curious enough with various girls that he’s almost asked, but never has) but if it is, he doesn’t know how people don’t just go around screwing each other in the ass every day. This is fucking _transcendent_.

He holds himself very still and then slides forward the rest of the way, and the groan Cody makes is such a purely sexual sound that Randy wouldn’t have thought Cody capable of it.

“Fuck,” Cody grinds out. Randy agrees with the sentiment, but doesn’t think he can make words, so he just nods frantically. Cody seems to get the gist of it, because he laughs, but it doesn’t sound amused as much as it sounds like he’s just so fucking happy he had to do something with it.

“You okay?” Randy asks, because Cody’s knees are practically up by his ears, and the look on his face could be pained or just overwhelmed. Randy shifts his weight to one arm so that he can settle a palm against Cody’s cheek, feel the warmth there where he’s still flushed pink, and his thumb presses against Cody’s bottom lip.

“I want you to move,” Cody murmurs, kissing the tip of Randy’s thumb. “Come on, fuck me, champ.”

The teasing challenge sets Randy’s nerves alight, and he grins back at Cody, a real one, and he tucks his face against Cody’s neck as he moves his hips to do as he’s asked.

He doesn’t know if Cody’s always so vocal during sex or if it’s more of the same, where he’s just feeling so much that he has to do something with it and that something is _words_ , but he’s got a surprisingly filthy mouth, uses some words that Randy’s vaguely impressed by.

Randy gets a hand around Cody’s cock and it’s not weird at all anymore, because it’s Cody, isn’t it? And it’s Cody’s dick and Cody’s body and Cody’s face and Cody’s voice, here with him, and it’s hard to be too concerned about the fact that Cody _has_ a dick when he’s making the sounds he makes when Randy touches it.

It doesn’t take a lot to bring Cody off; three tugs and he’s made scratches down Randy’s back, harsh enough that it stings, but Randy doesn’t care because Cody’s coming against his stomach, and Randy made that happen. He did that.

Cody’s _squeezing_ around him, too, and it’s too much, it’s all too much. Randy presses his face into Cody’s neck again, and he breathes in, and Cody’s hand is at the back of his neck to hold him there. He’s always looking after Randy, isn’t he? After all this time, Cody’s the one looking out for him rather than the other way around. Randy’s laughing when he comes, huffing it against Cody’s skin.

They’re both breathing hard, sticky and sweaty and messy, and Randy carefully lets himself down off to the side so he doesn’t put any unnecessary pressure on Cody’s back – like he didn’t already, the way Cody had himself contorted like an acrobat. Cody doesn’t seem like he’s in a lot of pain, though, so Randy just lets himself have a minute to breathe. Not to mention, Cody’s absently stroking the back of his neck, and it feels nice, so Randy’s going to let himself enjoy it.

The first thing Cody says afterwards is, “Your come-face is hilarious,” in a mumble like he’s already half-asleep, and he laughs when Randy elbows him.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is the first thing Randy says, which, on second thought, might not be the best thing he could’ve come out with.

But Cody just looks at him, with this little curious smile like he already knew (and he probably did; seems he’s good at understanding Randy even when he doesn’t understand himself). He kisses Randy, just a simple, sweet little thing.

“Yeah,” Cody says, quiet and knowing, and he stretches to crack his back before he continues. “I think you probably are, too. Good thing it’s mutual, huh?”

Randy looks at the bones in Cody’s wrist. He looks at the hills and valleys of his ribs, the traces of boyishness on his face, the coltish muscle in his legs. He is completely, incredibly, terrifyingly breakable. And he trusts Randy not to, anyway.

“Good thing,” he agrees as the sun dips low enough to play off the windowpane in orange glimmers. He still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, and he doesn’t know if he’ll screw it all up tomorrow. But he’s good at making it up as he goes along, and he thinks Cody is, too.


End file.
